


Here With You

by eleanorrigby (andiheardeverything)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Trauma, No Character Death, Slightly graphic medical scenes, gunshot wound, nothing too terrible though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-04-17 12:52:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14189352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andiheardeverything/pseuds/eleanorrigby
Summary: Tony gets injured on a simple mission gone wrong. Steve has a revelation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born out of the fact that I’ve been having a rough couple of months and need to write some old fashioned hurt/comfort to feel better. There’s little plot, and is basically what it says on the tin. 
> 
> This is my first Avengers fic after being an avid reader/watcher for the past several years. And my first time writing after a very extended (...2 years...) break, so I apologize upfront for any rustiness. Constructive criticism is accepted.
> 
> Okay. First chapter is the hurt, then comes the comfort.

Steve’s socks were wet and it was making him grumpy. Blisters were forming on the inside of his feet, and paired with Tony’s incessant talking, Steve was getting a headache.

Snow was falling in wet flurries, soaking through Steve’s uniform and Steve had to repress the urge to shiver. He couldn’t imagine how Tony was holding up; the suit had malfunctioned when they crash landed and he was wearing only his thin under suit. A bruise was beginning to purple the left side of Tony’s face, a small cut across the temple, a dried streak of blood down his cheek.

“… cross-reference the altitude adjustment because that should not have… if I see that dim witted Neanderthal again I’ll…”

“Tony!” Steve snapped, unable to take the ache that was pounding his skull with every word.

“Do you ever stop talking?”

Steve could feel Tony’s glare on the side of his face, but Tony remained blissfully silent. A pang of guilt turned Steve’s stomach and he abruptly stopped walking, running a hand over his face.

“You got a distress signal out to the team?” Steve asked, thumbs pressed into his eyes before looking over at Tony. Tony’s hair was damp with sweat or snow flurries – probably both – and he was biting at his lip, like he was trying to prevent his teeth from chattering with the cold.

“Ay ay, Captain. Provided they’ve seen it and Clint’s not taking his sweet time in the shower, they should be here in about an hour. At least, according to Jarvis.”

Steve nodded. “We should stay put then, so they can find us.”

A crease formed between Tony’s brow and he mumbled something under his breath before saying in a more understandable voice “…with the velocity of our fall and the fact that our coms went caput when we crashed, the only place we know for certain that Jarvis had contact with the team was about…” Tony squinted and pointed in front of them “…at the top of that hill?”  
Steve followed the direction of Tony’s finger to a rolling hill dotted with trees about a half mile off.

“I mean,” Tony started with a shrug, “they’ll find us here if they have eyes, but what else to do we have to do? I’m not a fan of sitting around freezing my ass off.”

“Alright,” Steve grudgingly agreed. Tony had a point, walking would definitely keep them warmer than standing around would, and it would give them something to do to pass the time.

“Lead the way.”

Tony gave a sharp nod, his hands balled up inside his shirt sleeves for warmth, and again started walking. Steve followed, his legs feeling stiff with cold.

“For the record, we’re never accepting a mission by ourselves again. This blows.” Tony started rambling once more and Steve groaned under his breath. “I mean, how were we to know they could open up a freaking portal and send us to the middle of wherever we are. Damn. Jarvis better have sent them the right coordinates or he’s getting turned into a toaster… no scratch that, he’d just burn everything. Ugh fuck it’s cold.”

The sun was low in the sky and Steve could see their breath in tiny clouds with every exhale. At least the snow flurries had begun to die down, only the occasional flake hitting Steve’s face.

They were approaching the edges of a forest, the occasional trees becoming more frequent and closer together, the setting sun casting long shadows over the path they were walking. A bird cawed and took flight, making both Steve and Tony jump as it rustled the branch it had been sitting on and snow slid to the ground.

Tony huffed a laugh when they realized what had made the noise, glancing back the way they had walked – probably checking if he could still see the scattered remains of his suit – when a loud crack echoed around them.

Steve’s first thought was that a branch had broken with the weight of the snow and he took another step before noticing Tony stumble in his peripheral vision.

“Uh, Steve,” Tony’s voice was tight and Steve turned around, prepared to lecture Tony on how  
walking had been his idea, but the sight that greeted him had the words turn to ash in his mouth.

Tony’s hand was pressed over his abdomen, his eyes wide and face pale. Steve’s brain felt like molasses, trying to process what he was seeing when he noticed bright red blood drip from Tony’s hands, leaving a stark droplet in the snow.

“Tony.” The name left Steve’s mouth in a whisper, and he moved forward just in time to grab Tony as his knees buckled. “Tony, oh my god, what…”

Shaking hands lifted away from Tony’s abdomen and Steve could see the precise wound of a bullet hole, just under the right side of Tony’s ribcage.

Steve’s mind was still trying to process what had happened, his thoughts moving from molasses into overdrive, when he heard a rustling noise behind them and on pure instinct whipped out his shield just as another crack echoed through the trees. The bullet hit the shield with a deafening clang, and Steve turned, keeping the shield in front of him and Tony, every instinct suddenly in battle mode.

He could just spot a figure - crouched low on the ground - behind the trees at the edge of the forest, the glint of metal in their hand as another loud crack sounded, another bullet ricocheting off Steve’s shield.

“Stay here,” Steve hissed at Tony, even though he knew Tony wasn’t going anywhere. He shouldn’t leave him, Steve’s brain screaming to stay beside him, but he had to take out the threat before he could help Tony. He charged toward the forest, a shout ripping from his throat and he could see the look of surprised panic on their attacker’s face at being spotted. The gun lifted once more but before he could shoot, Steve released the shield, it’s aim flying true and hitting the gunman in the head. He went down like a puppet with its strings cut, but Steve didn’t slow down, his heart slamming in his chest as he retrieved his shield.

Blood was pooling around the gunman’s head, and Steve wasn’t sure if he was dead or unconscious, and he frankly didn’t care. What did make him stop was the emblem of Hydra, glinting on the pocket of the man’s shirt.

“Shit,” Steve swore. Whenever Hydra was involved, there was bound to be more than one. He whipped his head around, eyes and ears sharp to any indication of more threats, but the only thing he could hear was the sound of Tony pained breathes behind him.

Strapping the shield to his back, Steve turned and quickly made his way back to Tony, knowing his teammate was his first priority and he’d deal with anymore threats when the came.

Tony had fallen to his side on the ground, his face ashen and his breaths coming out quick and irregular. He was still pressing his hands to his abdomen but blood was dribbling onto the snow, pooling around him in a way that made Steve’s stomach twist. A quick look at Tony’s back revealed there was no exit wound, and Steve had spent enough time in the war to know that wasn’t a good thing. The bullet was still inside Tony.

“Steve,” Tony gasped, eyes blinking up at him when Steve fell to his knees beside Tony.

“Did…”

“I got him, Tony, shhh,” Steve said quickly, his voice hoarse. His throat felt tight and his hands hovered over Tony, only for a minute, panic clouding his thoughts before his field training took over. “Try not to talk okay, you need to save your energy.”

Tony didn’t respond, just squeezed his eyes closed as a shudder shook through his body. Steve laid a gentle but firm grip on Tony’s side.

“I’m going to roll you onto your back, okay? I need to put pressure on the wound to keep it from bleeding.”

Tony nodded, his face screwing up as Steve gently turned him onto his back. He moved Tony’s hands to the side, blood already beginning to well up and pool in Tony’s already saturated shirt.

“It’s okay,” Steve said in as soothing of a voice as he could manage. “You’re going to be okay.”

Tony let out a shaky breath and Steve lifted Tony’s shirt to further assess the damage. The bullet hole was neat, the skin puckered where it had entered, blood sliding out at an alarming rate. Tony’s ribcage twitched sharply as he tried and failed to take in regular breaths and Steve wasted no more time, both his hands covering the wound and pressing down firmly. Tony jerked under him, trying to pull away from the pressure and Steve knew this had to be incredibly painful, but he held firm, not letting Tony go anywhere.

“Fuck,” Tony cursed in a quiet voice. Sweat was beading on his brow despite the cold, his face nearly the same color as the snow around them. “Getting shot sucks.”

Steve huffed out a laugh that was more nerves than anything, pressing down even harder when he warm blood continued to slide between his fingertips.

“Ow, shit, Steve.” Tony’s hands grabbed at Steve’s arm, fingers pressing in tight enough to bruise.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, voice cracking. “God, Tony, I’m so sorry. I need to stop the bleeding, you’re still…”

Tony’s eyes fluttered closed, his mouth a thin line.

“I know, I know. Fuck. I trust you, I just…” Tony words cut off when he groaned, convulsing against Steve’s hand. Steve continued to put pressure on the wound, watching Tony’s throat twitch as he tries to swallow. His breathing was becoming more irregular, and Steve could see the muscles above Tony’s collar bone, the hollow of his throat, pulling hard with every breath. Tony gives a weak cough and blood flecks his lips.

“Stay with me, Tony,” Steve ordered in the most commanding voice he can muster.

“Trying,” Tony grunted, eyes squeezing shut before cracking open. “Steve… I can’t, hngg, breathe… I…”

There’s a wheeze to every word, Tony’s breaths quick and erratic. Steve noticed a disproportionate movement in Tony’s chest, an unequal rising with every breath, the left side moving more than the right.

“I think the bullet might have punctured your lung,” Steve said, trying to control the panicked shaking of his voice. The reality of the situation was slowly seeping in, and dread was pooling like ice in his stomach. If the team didn’t get here fast… Steve pushed the thought from his head. He refused to go there. Tony was going to be okay, he had to be okay. “Try and take slow breaths, okay?”

Tony’s eyes were wide and frightened but he gave a small nod. Steve started taking exaggerated breathes that he was sure Tony could see, and Tony tried to copy, a hitching wheeze interrupting the rhythm.

“Good, Tony. You’re doing so good. You…” Steve swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. “Just keep breathing, just like that. Perfect, you’re doing perfect.”

  
“You sure know… how to make a guy feel good,” Tony mumbled, words coming out choppy and pained. His hand was still squeezing Steve’s arm, fingernails digging in almost painfully.

“Fuck it’s cold.”

Steve had to agree. The sun had almost set, the air temperature dropping noticeably, steam rising from the sweat on Tony’s face, the blood that still managed to slip from under Steve’s hands.

“Just hang on, okay? We’ll get you warm, as soon as the team gets here, I promise. All the hot chocolate you can drink, sound good?”

Tony gave a small nod. “Spicy hot chocolate?”

“Whatever you want, Tony. Anything you want.”

Tony’s fingers tightened at those words before falling to his side, and the lack of touch stirred a renewed panic inside Steve.

“Come on, Tony, stay with me.” Steve felt the hot prick of tears in his eyes and tried to blink them away without success. “Hey, did I ever tell you about when I got shot in the war? Right in the ass. Bucky made me drop my drawers right there in front of everyone. It was a sight to see, I’m sure, Captain America hobbling to our campsite without pants on, shot in the ass. They had to dig the bullet out, and let me tell you, I never got to live that one down. Captain America’s great war wound was a bullet in the buttocks.”

A small smile pulled at Tony’s lips, the tiniest huff of a laugh and Steve felt traitorous tears slide down his cheeks.

“The worst part was, the scar ended up looking like a smiley face. Bucky got a kick out of that.”

Tony’s smile turned into a grimace as he tensed against Steve, his fingers digging into the ground beside him. His lips had taken on a bluish hue that Steve did not like, his skin waxy and ashen.

“I’m…” Tony stopped, taking in a jagged breath. “I’m sorry I, fuck, I talk so much. I’m sorry…”

“No no no no no,” Steve murmured, wishing he had a free hand to caress Tony’s cheek, his brow, hold his hand, something to give him comfort. “I shouldn’t have said that, earlier. I was cranky and you didn’t deserve that.”

Tony shook his head. “I had a crush on you, you know. Since I… since I was seven.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly unable to talk around the painful lump in his throat. “Had a poster and ev… everything. You were…”

Steve’s eyes shot open when Tony trailed off, noticing the tears tracking down from Tony’s eyes.

“I…” Tony’s throat worked but no sound came out, only the wheeze of every short breath. His eyes were half lidded, and Steve felt he could almost see the fight going out of them, a resigned look on his face.

“Hey,” Steve barked sharply. “None of that. You’re staying with me, you hear? You do not get to die today. The world needs Tony Stark.”

Tony coughed, more blood staining his lips. “I don’t think they do.”

His voice was barely a whisper, and Steve knew he was crying openly now but he didn’t care. It was mean, Steve knew, but he pushed even harder on Tony’s wound, trying with all his might to get the bleeding to stop. Tony’s eyes opened with the renewed pressure, a grimace on his face.

“You suck,” he coughed, and Steve knew he was barely hanging on to consciousness. A sound in the distance had Steve’s head snapping up, renewed hope soaring in his chest when he saw what must be the quinjet, and Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful sight.

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” Steve said with a laugh, turning his gaze back down to Tony.

“When you get better, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Better,” Tony breathed, just before making a horrible choking noise, his chest convulsing. Grass and snow and leaves stirred around them as the quinjet landed a few hundred feet off, but Steve barely noticed, his stomach turning to lead as Tony’s eyes closed.

“No, no, no, Tony, no, come on,” He let up a hand, fingers fumbling for Tony’s wrist, only slightly reassured by the thready pulse under his fingertips, so fast, too fast. A wet sounding breath escaped Tony’s lips, a shuddered inhale aborted like something was getting in the way, and Steve shouted, somehow aware of his team approaching, hands on his shoulders, someone kneeling beside Tony, beside him.

“What happened?” A voice, female. Natasha, Steve registered, vaguely aware that all he could focus on was keeping pressure, holding Tony’s blood in his body like that was the only thing that mattered in the world. “Steve!” His cheek stung and Steve blinked. Natasha had slapped him, an urgent look on her face. Bruce was at Tony’s head, fingers on Tony’s carotid, lips moving wordlessly as he looked at his watch.

“Shot… he was shot. There was… someone in the woods. They shot him and I,” Steve swallowed. “I wasn’t fast enough, I couldn’t…”

“Hey,” Natasha gripped his chin, firm enough to be painful. “Save Tony now, wallow later, got it?”

Steve nodded, the buzzing in his ears starting to clear.

  
“Heart rate one-forty,” Bruce was saying, mostly to himself. “Something seems to be obstructing his airway, could be blood or his own tongue. We need to get to a hospital now.”

Clint appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, the hover gurney that Tony had designed beside him. Thor was just behind it.

“Okay, Steve, you keep pressure,” Bruce commanded and Steve nodded. He could do that. It would take an army to make him stop. “Nat, Clint, on three I want you to lift Tony onto the gurney. We need to get back to the quinjet before I can do anything.”

Natasha aligned herself under Tony’s shoulders, Clint at his feet. They counted to three and Tony was up, off the ground and onto the hover gurney, a choked moan escaping him at the movement. Steve faltered only a moment, a fresh wave of blood sliding under his fingers at the lack of pressure.

And then they were off, back towards the quinjet as fast as they could go with Steve keeping pressure on the wound. A sense of relief washed over Steve when they boarded the quinjet, they were safe here, they had equipment, Bruce could save Tony, could keep him stable enough that they could get to a hospital.

“Jarvis!” Bruce was shouting, opening the drawers that held the medical equipment with a loud bang while Clint basically threw himself into the pilot’s seat. “Find the nearest trauma hospital and get us there as fast as you can. Tell them what’s going on and to activate a massive transfusion protocol and have it ready when we arrive.”

Steve tuned the rest of the conversation out, very aware of the fact that Tony had stopped taking anything that could be called an effective breath, his chest convulsing and hitching under Steve’s hands.

“Bruce!” Steve shouted, “he’s not breathing!”

Bruce looked frantic, pulling equipment out and handing it to Natasha before turning back to Tony. He paused only briefly, taking a deep breath, schooling his face into a mask of calm. A stethoscope was around his neck and he slid it up to his ears before putting the diaphragm against Tony’s chest, first on the left side and then the right.

“I think his airway is blocked, he needs to be intubated. Natasha grab me a laryngoscope, ET tube, and ambu-bag please. Uh, CO2 colorimeter if have one also. Steve, keep pressure. Thor, once I’m in I’m going to need you to give manual breaths, slow and steady, okay?”

Thor nodded, and made eye contact with Steve. Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen Thor look so nervous.

“Okay, here it goes.” Bruce took the metal scope from Natasha and positioned himself just behind Tony’s head. He tilted Tony’s head back to an almost unnatural angle, sliding the metal scope into Tony’s mouth and pulling upward.

“Tube, please.” Natasha handed Bruce a clear plastic tube with a guide wire in the middle, and Steve had to avert his eyes as Bruce slide the tube down Tony’s throat. When Steve looked up again a large bag was attached to the end of the tube which Bruce was squeezing in a slow, rhythmic movement. Tony’s chest rose and fell with each squeeze, and Steve glanced at Bruce hopefully.

“We have color change,” Bruce announced, and motioned for Thor to take over, Thor’s large hands squeezing the bag with surprising delicacy. Bruce fastened a strap around Tony’s face, securing the tube in place before wiping a shaking hand over his forehead, and Steve could see the sweat beading on his brow. “Damn it, I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Natasha was already moving, pressing electrodes to Tony’s chest, something on his finger. A small hologram appeared beside them, displaying what Steve assumed were Tony’s vitals. The numbers meant nothing to him, but Bruce’s face tightened as he looked them over. He listened to Tony with the stethoscope once again, the expression on his face only growing more grave.

“Steve, I need to get a quick look at the wound, okay?” Bruce’s voice was gentle, like he was talking to a scared kitten. Steve shook his head, unwilling to let up. Some part of his brain was telling him this was the only thing keeping Tony alive; that if he let go, Tony would bleed to death in an instant.

“Hey.” Gentle hands on Steve’s arm, and Steve looked into Natasha’s wide eyes. “You’ve done so good, Steve. You’ve gotten him this far, now let Bruce help him, okay?”

Her fingers rubbed a soothing circle on Steve’s arm, and Steve blinked, aware of fresh tears on his cheeks, and swallowed thickly before reluctantly pulling his hands away.

Bruce was there, shining a light on the wound and prodding gently at it, causing Tony to twitch and try to jerk away. Thor stuttered his compressing of the bag in surprise, and Tony’s eyes fluttered open only for a moment.

A fingers threaded through Steve’s and he took in a shaky breath, realizing he hadn’t since he’d stepped away from Tony. He looked down to where Natasha was holding his hand, her fingers giving his a reassuring squeeze.

Bruce nodded, stepping away. “Okay, Steve, back at it.”

That was all the direction Steve needed to disentangle his fingers from Natasha’s press back on Tony’s wound. Only this time Bruce had given him a damp cloth to put between Steve’s hands and Tony’s skin, with the explanation that it would be more occlusive than Steve’s hands alone. Tony flinched under the pressure, but his eyes didn’t open.

“His lung is definitely collapsed, a tension pneumothorax most likely,” Bruce was saying and Steve had no idea what any of that meant, but felt slightly calmed by the evenness of Bruce’s voice. “Nat, I need scissors and a fourteen gauge needle. Clint, ETA?”

“Five minutes,” Clint shouted, and Steve wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or worried. Five minutes was barely any time at all and yet… so much could happen in five minutes. A person could die in five minutes. Steve had seen it happen.

“Come on, Tony,” Steve whispered, willing Tony to hear him. To push through, to fight this and live.

Bruce was cutting away Tony’s shirt, exposing the arc reactor, such a startling contrast against Tony’s pale chest, stained with blood.

“Dammit,” Bruce muttered, fingers tracing the edges of the reactor. Steve felt the urge to slap his hands away, knowing how private Tony was about it, but the more rational part of his brain knew that would serve no benefit in helping Tony. “Why is it so big?”

“What’s wrong?” Steve managed, renewed worry settling into his gut. Bruce ran a hand through his hair, upending his shaggy curls into disarray.

“I believe the bullet has punctured Tony’s lung causing it to collapse, and there’s either blood or air filling up his chest cavity, which runs the risk of compressing his heart, and God only knows what it could do to the reactor, if only Tony had thought to tell me, you know in case of getting shot…”

“Bruce,” Natasha said sharply. “What does that mean?”

“Sorry, I…” Bruce’s voice shook, and Steve realized how difficult this was on Bruce as well. He wasn’t a trauma doctor and yet it seemed he was constantly being forced to assume this role, and Steve couldn’t imagine how hard that was on a man who tried to avoid stress. Steve attempted to give him an encouraging nod.

“We need to relieve the pressure in his chest with a needle aspiration, and the normal placement for that is here,” Bruces fingers slid down from Tony’s clavicle three rib spaces, bumping up against the edge of the reactor. “But as you can see, there’s a giant metal electromagnet in the way.”

“So adjust,” Natasha said matter-of-factly, gripping Bruce’s hand and moving his finger and inch to the right. “Since when do we do anything by the book anyway?”

“I trust you,” Steve said and was surprised there was no shake to his voice. “And I know Tony does too.”

“Aye,” Thor boomed from his place at Tony’s head. “You are the most skilled Midgardian doctor I have known. I do believe Tony would trust you to do this.”

“Indeed, Doctor Banner,” Jarvis intoned from the speakers above him. “I have limited scanning abilities on this aircraft, but Miss Romanoff’s adjustment should be suitable for a needle aspiration.”

“Okay,” Bruce said, mostly to himself, taking in a deep breath. “Okay. Um, iodine first.”

He painted an orange square on Tony’s chest, allowing it to dry before taking the needle from Natasha. Before he could do anything further, Tony’s chest convulsed against the table, an alarm sounding as the numbers showing his vitals flashed red.

“Shit,” Bruce swore, “shit, Natasha, hold him still!”

Steve felt his heartbeat in his throat, a strange ringing in his ears as everything seemed to gray out into only Tony and the fact that he was dying, right here before Steve’s eyes and he couldn’t do anything.

“Doctor Banner, I suggest you hurry,” Jarvis said, and Steve could hear a strangely panicked note in the AI’s voice. Tony’s convulsion stopped and he fell unnaturally still, but the numbers on the screen continued to flash red, the alarm still sounding around them.

“Two minutes out,” Clint shouted from the front, and Steve prayed for the first time since he’d been defrosted in this new century that this wasn’t it. That this wasn’t how Tony died.

Bruce’s hand was surprisingly steady as he pierced Tony’s chest with the needle, driving it into the space between two ribs, just over an inch away from the arc reactor. Blood immediately shot out of the metal tube with alarming force, covering Bruce’s hands and sliding down the side of Tony’s chest and Steve was sure something had gone wrong, nobody could loose this much blood and still be okay, and just when Steve was sure Tony was going to bleed out through that tiny tube, the blood was replaced by air, sounding almost like someone had set off a gas compressor in Tony’s chest.

And to Steve’s great amazement, the alarms died down and the numbers on the hologram stopped flashing, and Tony’s chest began to rise and fall a little more evenly with each breath that Thor gave him.

“Oh thank God,” Bruce said in a shaky exhale, beads of sweat sliding down his temple as he secured he needle in place with tape.

“One minute!” Clint shouted and it was then that Steve noticed Tony’s eyelids had opened a crack. He eyes flickered between them, his look glazed, a pained pinch between his eyebrows.

Natasha must have also noticed Tony’s gaze because she crouched down beside his head, a hand gently caressing his cheek. “Amore mio,” she whispered and Tony’s eyes fluttered closed once more. “You’re okay. Sleep. We’ll be here with you.”

  
Steve felt numb as they landed, the ramp of the quinjet lowering and medical professionals rushing in. He was pushed back by someone in scrubs, and he found himself sinking to the ground, back pressed against the cold metal of the quinjet, head pressed into his knees.

His eyes felt hot, but the rest of his tears refused to fall. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took much longer than I was expecting. I started to write the chapter from Steve’s point of view and it just wasn’t turning out how I wanted it, so I decided to completely change it. That on top of training for a half marathon and working full time... It’s been a challenge to get back into the swing of writing after taking such a long break. I’m still not completely happy with this chapter, but I wanted to get it out before I leave on my trip next week.
> 
> Good news is I have a whole story fleshed out that I’m really excited about (and am hopefully still just as excited about after seeing Infinity Wars) that I’m going to start when this one is done! 
> 
> Probably 2 more chapter for this one to wrap up. If there’s anything you want to see, let me know! I’m flying by the seat of my pants on this one.

Tony was floating.

No, that wasn’t right. He was weighted down, his body had been filled with cement, his eyes unable to open. He felt… wrong. A sense of doom in his chest, but his brain had been turned to cotton and he couldn’t think it through. Something was wrong and breathing felt strange and all Tony could do was twitch a finger.

“Shh.” A voice, muffled like he was underwater. His ears were ringing and he was gone.

-

  
Awareness came with a hard rub on his chest. Tony groaned and then immediately gagged, but even that was half-hearted, his body completely devoid of energy.

“Let the machine breathe for you, Mr. Stark,” someone was saying, Tony only half aware of the words. Let what do what? There was an uncomfortable pressure in his throat, an unnatural sensation of breathing without breathing and Tony tried to swallow but that just made it worse and he shifted, trying to get away from the feeling…

And a hand on his arm, a gentle pressure.

“You’re okay, Tony.” A voice Tony knew, warm like honey. “Listen to the nurse. Try to relax. I’m right here.”

Soft circles stroked on his arm. It was soothing and Tony felt himself doing what the voice said, and to his surprise the choking pressure lessened greatly when he didn’t fight it. It felt better, actually, to let himself breathe without doing all the work. Huh.

“Good, that’s good, Tony.”

Tony’s eyes were gummy and as heavy as twenty pound weights and all he could manage was to open them just a crack.. Everything was blurry and too bright but Tony thought he could make out blond hair and pink lips before exhaustion pulled him back under.

-

“…weaned the sedation but…”

“…give him time…”

“…no, Clint you cannot draw on his…”

“…smelling coffee will…”

“…-eve, its not your…”

“…man, you gotta pull through…”

“…-ony? Tony?”

It was darker, this time. Tony’s eyes were less heavy and he managed to peer around the room, seeing, but not really processing. Three figures in the room, a window with shades drawn, the rhythmic sounds of medical equipment around him, the occasional beep of a machine.

“Guys, I think he’s waking up.” One of the figures was looking at him, and Tony blinked. Clint, the name slid into brain like molasses, and he let his gaze drift to the other figures. Natasha. Steve.

Steve.

Muffled words in his ears, trying to be understood but they were too fast and he was too tired, his brain frozen like a Windows ’95 trying to open internet explorer.

“Hey, Tony.” Finally, something slow, soft. Tony tried to respond but was immediately aware of an intrusion in his mouth, down his throat, and he started to gag…

“Hey, shhh. Try not to fight it.” Tears burned Tony’s eyes and his nose started to run and he wanted to cough, wanted this thing out, his throat _ached_.

“Tony, lyubov moya, you have a breathing tube.” A female voice, a small hand in his. “You need to let it breathe for you. You’ve been very sick.”

Tony tried to relax but it was hard, the tube an unnatural intrusion in his throat. He stared at Nat, with her kind face and bright hair, and he could see the crease of worry between her brows. He tried to remember what happened, to know how he ended up here, but there was nothing.

He wanted to ask, but when he tried his throat burned again and he coughed, squeezing Nat’s hand as he forcefully tried to relax. Someone was wiping his face clean with a damp washcloth and vaguely Tony was aware that he should be humiliated, but he was too tired to care. Plus, the cool cloth was soothing on his overheated skin.

“Are you in pain? Should I call the nurse?” Steve, this time, his voice slightly strained. Tony’s hand felt too heavy to lift, but with a little effort, he could still move his fingers. “What’s he…”

A laugh from Clint. “He’s signing. He just said no.” Clint shook his head, a smile on his face. “I knew nothing would be able to shut you up.”

_F-U_ Tony fingerspelled, and Clint snorted. “Back at you.”

Tony’s eyes felt heavy, and he let them drift closed, just for a minute…

-

The sun was up, golden light streaming through the cracks in the blinds. Tony blinked, feeling more awake than he had in a long time. There was still a tube down his throat, but this time he remembered to relax around it.

A glance around the room showed Steve, sleeping in a recliner chair that was far to small for him in the corner of the room, Clint sitting on a built-in bench in the window. He was doing something on his phone, and Tony lifted his hand a few inches off the bed to get his attention.

A smile pulled at Clint’s lips when he noticed Tony, his phone discarded on the bench as he moved to a seat closer to Tony’s bed.

“Hey, man, good to see you awake.”

Huh. Clint was being nice to him? That was new. Tony moved his fingers, slowly fingerspelling what he desperately wanted to know. _W-h-a-t-h-a-p-p-e-n-e-d._

Clint hesitated, glancing back at Steve as if he was considering waking him, but finally bit his lip and turned back to Tony.

“Dude, you were shot.” Tony blinked. “You got sent through some portal thing with Steve, and someone ambushed you. Steve knocked him out good though, he’s in SHIELD’s custody right now, probably with a splitting headache.”

_W-h-e-r-e._

“We’re in Colorado, of all places. We got a distress signal from Jarvis – while I was in the shower, too, I ran practically naked onto the Quinjet, which Nat will not let me live down – and when we got to you… it was bad, man.”

Tony took a second to process the information. There was something niggling in his brain, like a shadow of a memory, but nothing solid.

_F-e-e-l-l-i-k-e-s-h-i-t._

“I bet.” Clint’s eyes moved over Tony before snapping back to his face. “Bruce can probably tell you better than I can, but the bullet, it ruptured your spleen, which is why you were bleeding so bad. It, uh, it punctured your lung. I don’t completely understand, but your, uh-” Clint tapped his chest in the middle, mimicking where the arc reactor sat. “It was pulling the bullet toward it? It was pretty gnarly, for a while. They managed to remove the bullet, but you’ve been pretty sick. We’ve, uh, been worried.”

Tony knew it must have been bad for Clint to admit being worried. His gaze slid over to Steve, sleeping in the chair with him mouth open in a way that shouldn’t be cute but definitely was.

_S-t-e-v-e_

“Steve’s fine,” Clint said with a half smile. “Worried out of his mind, and we had to basically frog march him out of your room to get some food and rest. And a shower, man, he stunk.” Tony’s mouth twitched into something that might be a smile, but probably looked more like a grimace. “He saved your life though. The docs say if he hadn’t been there, you would have bled out in minutes.”

Tony closed his eyes, processing. Bled out. Clint’s words echoed in his head, but they didn’t have the impact Tony expected them too. Mostly he felt numb, a blanket of exhaustion pressing over him, smothering him.

“Get some sleep, dude.” Clint’s hand on his arm, briefly. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

-

Ffffuck, Tony thought as he blinked into consciousness once more. He ached everywhere, his head throbbing in beat with his heart. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but he didn’t think he’d be able to with the pain slicing up his ribs, in his head.

He tried to make a noise, coughed on the tube in his throat, his face screwing up in a grimace. It was pain like he hadn’t felt in a long, long time and he wanted to curse, to fight back the tears burning his eyes, but he couldn’t, all he could do was bear it and try not to choke…

And something pressed in his hand, a small plastic cord with a button at the end.

“Press it if you need to.” A voice, warm and soft. “It’ll help the pain.”

Tony pressed the button and waited for the sweet release of pain medication. It swept through him in a way that made his stomach roll, but it softened the pain, like dulled edges of a butter knife.

“Better?”

Tony opened his eyes, slightly thrown off by how close Steve was sitting to him. His brows were pinched in a frown and blue eyes were trained on him with a startling intensity. Tony managed a small nod, and Steve relaxed a fraction.

A quick glance around the room showed they were the only ones in here, and Tony suddenly found himself unsure of where to look. He supposed he could just fall back asleep, now that the pain meds were blissfully smoothing out his headache, weighing him into the bed in a pleasant way.

“The doctors say maybe they can take the tube out tomorrow,” Steve said, just as Tony was closing his eyes to drift off. Tony stared at him through half-lidded eyes. “They were, uh, worried for awhile. That your lungs might not recover to come off it, the, um… the ventilator.”

Steve’s words were halting, and he stopped to scrub his hand over his face. Tony just watched him, his mind too fuzzy to make much sense of the words, of the worry in Steve’s face.

“They said if you can come off that, then maybe we can go back home. To New York. I, uh, _god_ , there’s so many things I need to say, but…”

Tony’s eyes had drifted shut, the button falling from his fingers.

“You’re tired. I’m just…” a dry laugh, “rambling like an idiot.”

A hand in his.

“Get some sleep, Tony.”

Tony drifted off before Steve could finish his name.

-

“Alright, Mr. Stark, on three I want you to give a good cough, okay?”

Bruce was there, and Steve and Nat. A nurse and someone else – respiratory therapist? – removed the straps that were holding the breathing tube in. They waited for his nod and then counted, and on three the tube slide out with a horrible feeling that made Tony gag and his mouth water.

He coughed, and trying to suck in air and his throat burned and someone was rubbing his back, a small bin in front of his face for him to spit in. Well, that’s disgusting, Tony thought, but what dignity did he have left at this point?

“Deep breaths, if you can,” the nurse was saying, and Tony tried to calm his diaphragm, to take deep, measured breaths like he’d practiced so many times before. His side ached with every breath, and he lifted a hand to press against it but someone stopped him before he could.

“You still have a chest tube, Mr. Stark,” the nurse said, gently helping Tony lean back against the pillows. “We had to lower the dose for the breathing tube to come out, but you still have the button you can press for pain.”

Right, the button. Tony fumbled for it on the bed sheets, someone helping it into his hand, and he pressed it eagerly, waiting for the relief the pain meds would bring. It didn’t happen all at once, but slowly, like a spool of yarn unraveling, and eventually he could regulate his breathing into something resembling normal.

“Good, just like that.” Tony wanted to glare at the nurse, for acting like he was a child who needed help with something as simple as breathing. But that took energy – energy which Tony was sorely lacking.

He swallowed, or attempted, his throat burning like someone had grated his trachea with sandpaper and he groaned, which only made it worse. A spoon of ice chips appeared in front of his lips which he gratefully accepted, the cool liquid soothing as it slid down his throat.

“Thanks,” he grunted, and his voice was horrible, like he’d just come off a week long bender.

“You’re doing great, Mr. Stark,” the nurse said after listening to his lungs and pinching his fingers. “We might need to put you on a cannula for some oxygen, but not at this point. How do you feel?”

Tony cleared his throat, wincing. “Like I got shot in the stomach.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he swear he saw Steve flinch at the words, but it could have just been that he had something in his eye. That was probably it.

The nurse nodded. “Someone explained what happened?”

Tony made a so-so gesture with his hands. The nurse looked at Bruce, who nodded.

“I’ll let Dr. Banner go over everything with you. Just put on the call light if you need anything, and don’t be afraid to push that button for pain. I’ll be back in half an hour.”

Once the nurse and other unidentified person had left the room, Tony turned his head on the pillow to look at Bruce.

“Lay it on me.”

Bruce took a deep breath before sitting in the chair beside Tony. He was about to start speaking when Steve abruptly stood up and left the room. Tony frowned, confused.

“He’s been taking this pretty hard,” Bruce explained, a crease between his eyebrows.

“Guilt?” Tony croaked.

“Worry,” Bruce corrected. “I’m not going to lie, Tony, this was a close one. The bullet ruptured your spleen, that had to be surgically removed. You lost close to forty percent of your blood volume. Your lung collapsed, and there was tissue damage from the magnetic attraction of the arc reactor. They managed to remove the bullet, but you became septic. The infection, with your lungs… it was almost too much.”

Tony glanced at Natasha, the serious look on her face confirming Bruce’s story.

“Huh.” A pause. “How long?”

“We’ve been here almost two weeks,” Nat said. Tony blinked. Two weeks. Jesus.

“Who, uh…” Tony trailed off, shifting and feeling the uncomfortable and strange sensation of the chest tube.

“Hydra impersonators. Three idiots who found an old Hydra base and used their tech and suits. Nobodies. They’re in SHIELD custody now.”

Tony was quiet. Nobodies. A nobody who shot him, who apparently almost killed him. Of everything they’ve faced – literal gods and monsters, this is what almost got him? A nobody in a stolen costume?

“Tony?”

“I’m tired,” Tony said, voice cracking. He fumbled for the pain button, wanting the ease into sleep to clear his pounding head, this raw ache in his throat.

“Of course,” Bruce stood up, hesitating. “Get some rest.”

Natasha kissed Tony’s forehead, the gesture more gentle than Tony was expecting. Exhaustion was already pulling his eyelids down, his thoughts slowing to blissful halt.

“Sleep,” Natasha brushed Tony’s hair from his eyes. “I’m sure Steve will be back soon.”

Then they left, and Tony was alone, blinking heavily after them. Steve? Why would Steve need to come back now that Tony was awake? Why wasn’t he in New York? Why did the thought of Steve sitting at Tony’s bedside make him feel both warm and uneasy?

Sleep pulled at Tony, covering him like a warm blanket, and he slipped into dreams of blue eyes and a honey voice humming in his ear. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took a million years. I’m still not happy with this chapter but I figured I’d post it anyways. I guess I’m still getting back into the groove of writing. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter. You’re all lovely! It really means a lot.

“Is it weird to miss a body part you’ve never thought about before?”

Tony was drumming his fingers on the bedsheet. It had been three days since they’d removed the breathing tube, one day since they’d flown back to New York. Despite Tony’s protests, they’d transferred him to another hospital instead of back to the tower. He still had the chest tube draining fluid from his lung, and remained on a heavy dose of pain medication and antibiotics. He seemed to sleep more than he was awake, and grew tired extremely quickly the few times the nurses had helped him out of bed.

“I don’t suppose it is,” Steve responded, looking up from his sketch book. Tony was staring down at his abdomen, hand resting lightly over where Steve guessed the incision from his surgery was.

“I’m sorry spleen. You served me well, I think. I don’t know what your purpose was, but you can’t have been that important if I can live without you.” Tony sighed and rolled his head on the pillow to look at Steve. His pupils were wide with the pain medication and his speech was slow in a way that Steve wasn’t used to with Tony.

“Watcha drawin’?”

Steve felt his cheeks color slightly and he shrugged. “Nothing really, just a few sketches to pass the time.”

Tony blinked. “You don’t have to be here you know.”

Steve swallowed and bit his lip. He couldn’t quite explain why he felt so compelled to be here now that Tony was getting better. Back in Colorado, when things were so touch and go and Steve’s heart felt like it was lodged in his throat and his stomach felt full of rocks he could put it down to worry for a teammate.

But now… he’d tried to leave, had gone back to the tower shortly after they arrived. He’d wandered from room to room, trying to clear his mind, but everything reminded him of Tony, and he couldn’t shake the anxious churning of his gut. He couldn’t explain it, the thing niggling in his chest every time he thought of leaving.

“I know,” Steve answered, simply. Tony stared at him with wide eyes and Steve’s mouth suddenly felt dry, his heart pounding in his chest. He shrugged and pulled his gaze away from Tony’s. “But I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Tony’s head rolled back on the pillow. “Oh, I’m great. Lost a little weight too. How much does a spleen weigh anyways?”

A smiled tugged at Steve’s lips. “I have no idea, Tony.”

“Hmm.” Tony’s eyes were drifting shut, and Steve knew Tony would probably sleep for most of the day. Maybe he should head back home, take a shower, try to sleep… Steve’s eyes rested on Tony’s sleeping form, and decided maybe he should stay, just a little while longer.

-

The sounds of commotion rang through the halls when Steve entered the unit Tony was being held on. Shouting mixed with the sounds of alarms echoed down the corridor and Steve quickened his pace, a suspicious feeling in his gut.

Pepper was standing just outside the door of Tony’s room, a hand over her mouth. She looked at Steve as he approached with wide, panicked eyes.

“What’s going on?” Steve asked, and Pepper shook her head.

“He just… flipped out,” she explained, and Steve glanced into the room to see Tony perched on the edge of the bed, a hand on his side, surrounded by four medical staff. He was arguing, but Steve couldn’t make out his words from the other’s, mixed with the alarms sounding. Pepper continued. “He’s refused his pain medicine all day, and then he just decided to leave, but he ripped out his chest tube and fell on his way to the door. He’s been fighting with them since.”

Steve grimaced, imagining how much pain Tony must be in without his pain meds.

“He listens to you, Steve…” Pepper rested a hand on his arm. “Can you talk some sense into him?”

Steve wanted to argue; Tony most certainly did _not_  listen to him, but he also couldn’t sit back and do nothing while Tony hurt himself.

“I’ll do what I can, Miss Potts,” Steve said with a nod before steeling himself to enter the room.

Tony was standing when he entered, hunched slightly, hand pressed tight against his right side. A medical personal was trying to get her hands on his arm to help stabilize him, but he kept pushing her away every time she came close. Someone else was very close to grabbing Tony’s shoulders, and Steve knew that would not go over well. Tony was touchy about his personal space on the best of days.

“Excuse me,” Steve said, and everyone in the room turned to look at him except Tony, who was staring resolutely at his feet. “Can I have a moment with Tony?”

A look of relief swept across one of the staff’s face, and he stepped closer to Steve.

“Captain Rogers,” he said, voice tight. “Mr. Stark is refusing to listen to reason and insists on being discharged when he can barely walk.”

It was a testament to how terrible Tony must be feeling that he didn’t have anything to say to this, just tightened his grip on the side rails of the bed.

“Please, can you just give us a minute?” Steve asked. He didn’t know Tony as well as he would have liked, but he knew him well enough to know he hated an audience when he was feeling weak.

“Captain, we need to put a bandage over the chest tube site to prevent his pneumo from re-accumulating.” The man – probably a nurse – was looking between Steve and Tony, most likely waiting for Tony to see reason.

_Ugh, Tony,_  Steve thought, exasperated. _Why do you make everything so difficult?_

He kept those thoughts to himself. “That seems reasonable. Just you though. Tony?” Tony’s face tightened, but he gave the slightest nod. The medical staff looked at each other, probably conveying an unspoken message, before three of them left, leaving behind the man who had spoken.

Steve stepped forward, slowly offering his hand to help Tony sit back on the bed. Tony accepted it reluctantly, letting go immediately when he was perched at the edge of the bed. The nurse had gathered some gauze and an orange occlusive tape, laying out his supplies on the table beside the bed.

“Mr. Stark, may I?” The nurse asked, and Steve was happy the man waited for Tony to grunt and remove his hand before he lifted the edge of the hospital gown. Steve tried not to stare, but it was hard not to noticed the angry incision just under Tony’s ribs, or the purple and yellow and green bruising that mottled his side. Tony pointedly ignored Steve’s gaze, flinching when the nurse taped the dressing over where Steve presumed the chest tube had been pulled out.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” the nurse said when he was finished, pulling off his gloves and stepping back. “I can get you your pain medication if you like?”

“I’m fine,” Tony snapped, although now that Steve was close up he could see that Tony was anything but fine. His face was pale and damp with sweat, his eyes ringed with red and his lips pressed tight together. His hands shook against the bed.

The nurse looked up at Steve, obvious frustration and exasperation in his face.

“We’ll call you if we need you,” Steve said, as kindly as possible. It wasn’t the nurses fault he had to deal with Tony Stark on a bad day.

“Just press the call light.” The nurse gave one last look before exiting the room. Steve could make out Pepper’s worried face as the door opened, and he gave her as reassuring a nod as he could. She bit her lip before mouthing /call me/ and making the phone imitation with her hand that Steve was getting used to seeing in this century. He nodded before turning back to Tony.

“You’re wasting your time here.” Tony’s voice was tight and he finally looked up at Steve. There was obvious pain in his eyes, but something else… something Steve couldn’t quite place.

“Why won’t you take your pain meds?” Steve asked, completely ignoring Tony’s last statement. Tony stared at him hard for a moment, before squeezing his eyes shut, running a shaking hand over his face.

“I can’t… they make my brain so foggy. I can’t think on them,” Tony said, drawing in a shaky inhale. He looked about to collapse and Steve took a minute step forward, ready to catch him if needed.

“Can you honestly tell me you can think clearly right now?” Steve countered. “I can see you’re in pain.”

Tony didn’t answer, just clenched his jaw, eyes still shut. Steve sighed.

“Tony, look. I know you’re tired of being here, but this isn’t the way to to do it.” Steve knew reasoning with Tony could very well be like reasoning with a brick wall, but he knew he had to try. Not just because Pepper asked him too, but because… well. Steve shook his head, clearing his thoughts.

“Jesus,” Tony pressed the heels of his trembling palms into his eyes. “Why do you keep coming here, Steve?”

Steve paused a moment, considering. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“Ah, so it’s pity then. Good, familiar,” Tony said, a grimace on his face when he shifted slightly.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Steve said, reaching out to lightly touch Tony’s arm. Tony looked down at Steve’s hand, his eyes narrowed.

“What would you like me to be like then, Captain Perfect?” His words were clipped, his arm pulling away from Steve’s hand. “A little quieter maybe? A little less annoying? Fuck you and your guilt complex.”

Steve stepped back, the words stinging like a slap to the cheek. He knew how sharp Tony’s tongue could be, and he knew how pain and frustration could make the best of men say things with the sole intention of hurting, of pushing someone away. But it didn’t stop his own frustration from rising, or the urge to shake Tony and make him see reason.

“Go back to your icicle and leave me alone.”

Steve felt cold at the words, colder than he’d felt in Colorado with the snow falling around them, limbs numb and aching. He turned abruptly; if Tony wanted to push people away than who was Steve to stop him?

“You keep pushing away your friends, Stark,” Steve said, pausing at the door, not bothering to look back. “Soon you won’t have any left.”

“Who said you were my friend?”

Steve didn’t bother responding to Tony’s harsh words, and shut the door forcefully behind him. He leaned against the wall just outside of Tony’s room, a curdled feeling in his stomach and a bad taste in his mouth. He took in a deep breath and licked his lips, tried to calm the sour anger that had risen in him.

He counted to ten and unclenched his jaw, ran a hand through his hair. That had not gone how he’d pictured it. Tony was belligerent and just… so damn _frustrating_ , and Steve didn’t know whether to help him or leave him to his regular self-destructive ways. The second option was beginning to look startlingly appealing.

And yet… Steve pushed away from the wall, hesitating only a second before peering through the window in the door back into Tony’s room. Tony was hunched on the edge of the bed, one hand tight across his chest and the other white knuckled on the railing. His face was tense with pain, and Steve could make out a wetness around his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Making up his mind, Steve turned away from the door and headed back towards the nurses station, standing as tall and imposing as he could manage. He located the nurse from before, the man stopping as soon as Steve approached him.

“If Tony agrees to take his pain medicine, can he be discharged back to Avengers Tower?” Steve made his tone as authoritative as he could, feeling pleased as the man’s eyes widened at the mention of _Avengers_. “I will personally insure he complies with all medical treatments.”

“Um,” the man said, looked startled and more than a little bit in awe. “I don’t see why that would be a problem. Let me just page the doctor and try to get it sorted.”

Steve clapped him on the shoulder and the man stumbled, only slightly, but Steve had to hold in a chuckle.

“Please do. I’ll wait.”

It only took just over an hour for the discharge paperwork to be processed and Tony to picked up by Happy and Pepper, Steve staying pointedly out of the way. While he still felt uncomfortable with the authority and fame that came along with being Captain America, he had to admit that sometimes it had it’s perks.

-

It takes three days for Steve to work up the courage to visit Tony. Three days of Steve wandering around the tower, feet taking him in the direction of Tony’s workshop but always stopping, turning around and forcing himself away with legs made of lead.

He told himself Tony wanted to be left alone, that Tony would have found him if he wanted to talk, or would have at least sent him a message letting him know how he was doing. But the truth was, Steve was confused. Extremely confused.

On the one hand, he couldn’t stop thinking about Tony. About the way his cheeks turned pink in the cold, the way his hair was always ruffled in the mornings before his coffee. About the way he had held onto Steve’s arm as he bled out beneath him, the way his eyes had locked with Steve’s, wide and frightened. About how he’d taken Steve’s _stupid_  complaints to heart, and how he’d been prepared to use his final moments to apologize.

About how he confessed to having a crush on Steve.

On the other hand, what he said in the hospital still hurt. The way he was was prepared to push everyone away, to cut to the core so easily with just a few words made something sour sit in Steve’s stomach. He felt uneasy, unsure how to navigate this situation.

He had to do something. They were still a team and they needed to clear the air before Tony was well enough to suit up again, but Steve didn’t know what to do. His heart was pulling him two different directions, and he was scared to admit what he so deeply wanted.

Who he so deeply wanted.

Steve took a breath and made up his mind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! Comments are very appreciated.


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